


But She Tries

by PontiusHermes



Category: David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: Gen, Music, POV First Person, Performing Arts, Sad, She Used To Be Mine, Singing, Song Lyrics, Sweet, Tribute, Waitress - Freeform, non-romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8207383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PontiusHermes/pseuds/PontiusHermes
Summary: Written in response to 'Something happened on the day he died...' by 'flash in the pan (MadameLaMielleuse).'It's a beautiful story (hers, not mine).I strongly advise you to read that first, as this is sort of a continuation. I am a person on that stage, and this is my story.The story uses lyrics from 'She Used to Be Mine' from 'Waitress.'





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flash in the pan (MadameLaMielleuse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameLaMielleuse/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Something happened on the day he died...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705946) by [flash in the pan (MadameLaMielleuse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameLaMielleuse/pseuds/flash%20in%20the%20pan). 



I feel bare, standing on the stage before him. There is no scenery, no costumes, no makeup. Just me, dressed like I've just come in off the street, in a pool of light on a dark stage. I can feel him listening, and my throat is dry. I wonder how I will be able to sing.

An introduction; piano chords. I swallow, nervous. I chose this song especially. I felt like he might understand me. 'I feel lost too!' I want to scream. But I don't. I sing.

_It's not simple to say_  
_That most days I don't recognize me_  
_That these shoes and this apron_  
_That place and it's patrons_  
_Have taken more than I gave them…_

Silence from the theatre, but a gentle silence, like he is waiting for me to continue, patiently. I take a breath, strangely still and calm.

_It's not easy to know_  
_I'm not anything like I used to be_  
_Although it's true_  
_I was never attention's sweet centre_  
_I still remember that girl…_

I feel tears wanting to tear the back of my throat. They glisten in my eyes, but I don't think he minds. I am glad the auditorium is dark; I know that whatever is written on his face could consume me with emotion, raw and crushing. I want to hold someone's hand, but I am surrounded only by the piano and the darkness and waiting.

_She's imperfect but she tries_  
_She is good but she lies_  
_She is hard on herself_  
_She is broken and won't ask for help_  
_She is messy but she's kind_  
_She is lonely most of the time_  
_She is all of this mixed up_  
_And baked in a beautiful pie_  
_She is gone but she used to be mine…_

I tremble under the spotlight. 'I don't deserve to sing for you,' I want to say. I hold the note, then let it fade off, saying nothing. Someone comes in on a bass guitar.

_It's not what I asked for_  
_Sometimes life just slips in through a back door_  
_And carves out a person_  
_And makes you believe it's all true_  
_And now I've got you_  
_And you're not what I asked for_  
_If I'm honest I know I would give it all back_  
_For a chance to start over_  
_And rewrite an ending or two_  
_For the girl that I knew…_

I feel a strange freedom; a non-caring. I almost smile, but the music washes me along.

_Who'll be reckless just enough_  
_Who'll get hurt but_  
_Who learns how to toughen up when she's bruised_  
_And gets used by a man who can't love_  
_And then she'll get stuck and be scared_  
_Of the life that's inside her_  
_Growing stronger each day_  
_'Til it finally reminds her_  
_To fight just a little_  
_To bring back the fire in her eyes_  
_That's been gone but it used to be mine_  
_Used to be mine…_

I feel minuscule, tiny, lost on the stage, and so afraid. Even though this is what I wanted, I am afraid. I hope he won't hate it, but I doubt that he will. He seems too generous, and he has been kind to every other person who has performed here before me. I hold my voice together, away from tears. The last bit comes out almost as a whisper.

_She is messy but she's kind_  
_She is lonely most of the time_  
_She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie_  
_She is gone but she used to be mine…_

Silence. Then slowly, like warmth, the sound of gentle applause. Tears flow down my face as if from a burst dam wall, and I bow once to where I think he is and retreat, shaking, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> RIP David Bowie.
> 
> Pontius


End file.
